Waffling in Murder

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “Only slightly burnt,” she joked.

  “Burnt it is,” he announced.

  “No, I was kidding. I like it golden brown.”

  “Or as my mother used to say, goldenized,” Frank laughed.

  “That’s not a real word,” Sonja poked him in the side.

  “In my house it is,” he smiled.

  She scooted closer to him. The night air was chilly, a constant reminder of the waning summer months and coming autumn. While she didn’t mind the hot months, and even enjoyed some of the summertime celebrations, she much preferred autumn and winter. The coming of cold weather meant the holidays were quickly approaching, and the holidays were always accompanied by great food—some of the best food in fact.

  It made her excited just thinking about it, creating hope in the future. Not everything had to be witches, ghosts, and murder. Whenever she was spending time with Frank like this, that hope burned brighter.

  “I used to always eat mine with a little peanut butter,” he told her, leaning into her embrace.

  “Peanut butter?” she protested slightly.

  “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.”

  “I don’t think it sounds gross, just a little odd,” she admitted.

  Frank looked up at the stars, thinking. “It’s sort of like eating a peanut butter cup with a little extra crunch.”

  “And some marshmallow. Don’t forget the marshmallow,” she pointed out.

  “Of course, how could I forget the core ingredient of a s’mores?”

  “Reminds me of those limited-edition peanut butter cups with a crunchy cookie in the middle,” she said.

  “That’s right. I remember those.”

  “I bet you liked them.”

  “I loved them.

  “I knew it,” she joked, giving him a slight push.

  “See? Peanut butter on a s’more could work.”

  She pursed her lips to one side in thought. “Do you have any peanut butter?” she asked.

  “I wish,” he admitted, laughing quietly. Looking down into her face, he raised an eyebrow. “Wait, do you mean you want to try it?”

  “Sure. If you say it’s good, I’ll at least taste it.”

  He smiled widely as if she’d just made his day.

  “Let me see if I have any peanut butter in my van.” Letting go of his arm, she stood up and headed off into the darkness, the bright blaze of the fire staying in her eyes and making it difficult to see. Luckily, her sight adjusted quickly and she found her van with no problem.

  As she opened the backdoor, she noticed someone walking toward her.

  “Hi, Sonja,” came Bethany’s voice.

  The magic of the evening suddenly deflated and she remembered the odd things Bethany had said earlier. “Oh, hi,” she managed to force out, turning away to dig inside the van for peanut butter.

  “Is Frank over at the fire?” she asked.

  Sonja froze, unaware of what to say in response. Instead, she continued digging as if she hadn’t heard her.

  “Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I was probably out of bounds.”

  Locating the jar of peanut butter, as well as a knife, she pulled both items out and turned around to face Bethany. “Frank and I are very happy. We may not be the most conventional couple, but we like things the way they are.”

  “You both do?” she pressed, a hint of disdain in her voice. Had she even meant the apology she’d just given?

  “Including Frank,” Sonja shot back. She was not in the mood to be dealing with this again.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Bethany said truthfully. “He deserves to be happy.”

  “He does.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, I suppose.”

  “It’s not,” Sonja confirmed, a little too harshly. She felt bad for the comment.

  There was an awkward pause as Bethany’s face dropped in a pained look. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you at the fire,” she said quietly, walking off toward the blaze.

  Sonja’s stomach sank. “Bethany, I’m sorry. Why don’t you sit with Frank and me?”

  “No thanks.” Even in the dim light, Sonja could see the hurt expression on the woman’s face.

  Sighing, Sonja headed back to sit next to Frank. Bethany had taken a seat among some of the other men on the other side of the fire.

  “I wonder why Bethany didn’t sit with us,” Frank noted, looking over at her.

  “I have no idea,” Sonja sighed.

  “Ah, you found the peanut butter,” he exclaimed, seeing the jar in her hand.

  A little of the evening’s magic returned with just a look from him. Sonja knew, even though she’d said it countless times before, that she loved him. “Yep, I found the peanut butter.”

  “Perfect timing. I just finished your marshmallow,” he offered, holding up the stick with a perfectly caramelized marshmallow on the end.

  Grabbing a graham cracker, she spread on a thin layer of crunchy peanut butter, topped it with a slab of chocolate, and then had Frank carefully push the marshmallow off the stick onto the sandwich.

  Closing it with the other half of the cracker, she took a bite.

  “So?” he pressed, a big goofy grin on his face.

  She paused for effect, acting like a professional chef tasting a student’s dish. “Hmm, it’s got a nice salty flavor, a little sweet, and perfectly cooked.”

  “You like it?”

  “It’s not bad,” she admitted, even though she was pleasantly surprised at how much she enjoyed it.

  Shoving another marshmallow onto the stick, he held it over the fire. “So, what is this fantastic new waffle you’re going to feed us tomorrow?”

  Sonja took a big bite of her s’more and smiled. “You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  After all the marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars had been devoured, everyone had quieted down, just drinking in the evening’s atmosphere. Sonja had been enjoying the solitude, despite Bethany’s presence at the other end of the fire. While she felt poorly for the way she had acted, she still didn’t feel quite right about the woman.

  “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s keep an old tradition alive and tell ghost stories,” Frank called to the other rangers.

  Sonja felt her stomach sink slightly. Her whole life was one big ghost story, what could possibly be fun about sitting around the fire and talking about it?

  Heck, even thinking about it sent prickles running up the back of her neck.

  She jabbed him in the side as a sign that she didn’t think it was a good idea, but the whoop from a few other men in agreement negated any protests she might have. Frank looked at his girlfriend and gave a little shrug of apology, knowing he couldn’t take it back now.

  “I haven’t done that in ages,” one man said.

  “Does anyone have a good one?” another ranger chimed in.

  One of the women stood up and raised her hand, offering to share a spooky yarn. Sonja cuddled up close to Frank, wanting his warmth and companionship more than anything right then.

  The female ranger told a familiar campfire tale about an escaped murderer with a hook on his hand, and didn’t make it very scary—much to Sonja’s relief. She didn’t particularly want to feel more scared than she already was.

  Next, a gentleman stood up and told of a woman who was half-donkey, half-human. It was another that Sonja had heard before.

  It went on that way for another four stories, everyone retelling classics that weren’t too chilling now that they all were adults.

  Finally, Bethany raised her hand, narrowing her eyes directly at Sonja. “I have one, one I know none of you have heard before.”

  “Go for it,” Frank encouraged, despite Sonja’s quiet groan of protest.

  Bethany had her eyes on Sonja as she stood up in front of the group, just near the edge of the fire. The light outlined her body but darkened her features, giving her a sort of dark and myste
rious aura as she began.

  “This story is one I heard from a local who visits the park on occasion. Supposedly, it happened right here in this area.”

  Sonja rolled her eyes. Saying that the story you were about to tell took place in the same woods where you were camping was an old trick to spook younger kids. Sonja refused to let it work on her.

  “This is called The Witch of the Woods.”

  The hairs on Sonja’s arm stood up at the mention of the word, witch, and she felt as if the night had suddenly and unexplainably grown colder.

  “A few years back, maybe twenty or thirty, there was a very affluent and rich family traveling through this area in search of a new summer home. There was a father, a mother, and two twin girls—infants.”

  Sonja’s heart was already beginning to speed up, not much different from when she watched modern horror films.

  “The family, along the way, decided to stop and see this grand state park. At the same time, there was a Medieval Festival being held on the grounds—sponsored by the state, of course.”

  There was knowing nods, smiles, and even a giggle or two. Sonja assumed this was in response to some sort of inside joke about park regulations.

  “They took part in the festivities, ate the food, watched the jousts, and even joined in on the dance. As the day turned to evening, they decided it was probably time to head out soon, but the wife wanted to make one more stop before the end. . .” Here, Bethany paused for effect. “At the fortune teller’s booth.”

  There were a few oohs and ahs from the crowd. Sonja remained unimpressed.

  “Sitting down in the booth, the couple asked what they might find in their near future. The teller, looking from one to the other, and then down at each of the baby girls, frowned. ‘are you sure you want to hear your future,’ she asked, ‘it may not be pretty.’ But the couple, believing this was all in fun, agreed to hear the reading.”

  “This should be good,” Sonja muttered under her breath, attempting to keep herself from getting spooked. Frank didn’t hear her. He was too invested in the story.

  “The teller waved her hands over the crystal ball and looked inside. I see tragedy in your future, in more ways than one. Death even, she said. One of these two girls is filled with evil. The fortune teller pointed at the twins. They both will have mystical powers beyond your comprehension, but one will be your downfall. One will be a witch.

  “This made the parents angry. What kind of woman would call a child evil just for the sake of a fake fortune?”

  Bethany paused, sweeping the crowd with her eyes for effect. “But it wasn’t fake. It was the truth. That same night, while the family slept in a high-class hotel room—a room at the Moon Vail Hotel right near here—there came a wild scream.

  “It was the woman’s scream.

  “The husband, frantic at hearing his wife cry out, scrambled to find the light. When he finally managed to turn it on, he fainted at the sight before him. His wife’s throat had been cut in her sleep. On top of that, one of the two twin girls was gone from the crib—disappearing through an open window into the night.

  “Was it the curse that the fortune teller had spoken of or was it a simple case of murder and kidnapping? Some say the child was taken by an older witch, someone to train the young girl.”

  She paused, letting the silence of the night sink in among them. “The father, desperate to find his second daughter, lived near here and spent significant amounts of money to help locate the girl. All the while, he was protective of his other child, never letting her out into the ridicule of the public eye, never letting the story of what had happened get too far.”

  “To this day, they never found the girl. Still, some say that she grew up in the tutelage of an age-old witch, living out her days secretly in these very woods.

  Leaning in close, her eyes narrowed on Sonja, Bethany let her voice drop to a whisper. “They say you can hear her wandering at night, using an old walking stick to guide her way. You can hear it go click . . . click . . . click on the stones as she goes. She is looking for her father and sister, looking to kill them off once and for all, just like her mother all those years ago. So, if tonight while you sleep you hear the click of her cane, make sure to run for your life.”

  Bethany shrieked, letting out a loud cackle like a witch—and a very convincing one at that—making the whole audience jump in their seats.

  There was applause all around and Bethany took a bow, keeping her eyes trained on Sonja the whole time.

  Somehow, Sonja felt that there was more truth to her story than fiction.

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  Sonja caught Bethany staring across the fire at her and Frank a number of times throughout the rest of the evening, and her glare was still seared into her mind as she tromped off to bed. Opening the back of the catering van again, Sonja tried to push the image from her thoughts. Maybe she was just being paranoid about Bethany, but the strange sinister feeling in her gut continued to grow. Was it just that she had romantic feelings for Frank, or was there something else there? Something evil?

  Sonja felt ridiculous.

  Although, she did feel singled out during the story, like Bethany was trying to specifically scare her. Was that true? Worse yet, was the story true?

  If that was the case, how did Bethany know it?

  Shivering, Sonja had the briefest idea that Bethany might be the witch.

  Shaking her head, Sonja sighed, disappointed in herself. Now she was really being paranoid.

  Making a firm affirmation to talk to Bethany in the morning and prove to herself that there was nothing to worry about, Sonja climbed into the van and shut the doors, locking them tight. With everything strange that had happened that day, she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Carefully, she shifted her tent bag to the side of the van under one of the shelves where she stored utensils. Grabbing her sleeping bag, she unrolled it in the skinny area in between shelves and boxes.

  It would be a little cramped, but comfortable enough for one or two evenings. Digging into her overnight bag, she pulled out her pajamas with little white cats patterned on them. She thought of her own little feline back home, a ghost that just wandered around the house and lounged about most days. Misty had been a gift from her father who also could see ghosts. It turned out the cat belonged to him when he was a kid. After it died, the spirit had stuck around.

  Feeling a little cold and shaky, she wished that Misty was there with her right then to keep her company. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so spooked with a cat sleeping next to her.

  Sliding down into her sleeping back, the rounded grooves of the metal floor under her back, she let out a long deep sigh and tried to fall asleep.

  The wind whistled through the cracks in the doors, creating an eerie hollow noise like someone wailing in the distance. Attempting to ignore it, Sonja rolled over to lay her cheek on the pillow. The hard floor dug into her side.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to fall asleep and felt foolish for not sleeping in her tent outside. Scrunching up in the bag, she thought about grabbing her hoodie and pulling it on. It might pad out the harder spots underneath her and it would keep her warmer against the evening chill.

  As she contemplated getting up to grab it, the wind took on a strange quality. Almost as if it were talking. Soooonja, it seemed to whisper.

  No way, she thought to herself. I’m just imagining it.

  Another gust came, whistling her name under the back doors of the van. Soooonja.

  Sitting bolt upright, Sonja peered toward the back windows of her vehicle. Waiting, she listened for the strange voice to come again.

  The leaves in the tree just outside rustled, almost as if shushing the night air.

  Another minute went by, but no voice called her name.

  Guessing she’d imagined it, she gently laid back down. As she did, a shadow leaned over her head, kneeling at the top of her sleeping bag.

  Two red and yellow eyes
stared out from the inky face at her, so close to her that it’s sour breath brushed her face with its stench.

  Screaming, she rolled away, scrambling to the far end of the van. “Who are you?”

  The thing, about the size of a man, turned its head sideways as if staring at a piece of abstract art.

  “What do you want?” she managed to breath out.

  The black figure sat there again for another second, as if it hadn’t heard her. Then, as quick as a spider chasing its prey, it came on all fours toward her.

  Sonja screamed, shutting her eyes tight.

  Suddenly, she was falling backward. The door of the catering van had been opened, causing her to tumble out. Hitting the dirt with a hard thud, Sonja opened her eyes again and spotted the thing galloping across the dirt lot toward the trees.

  It paused, stuck its head up into the air as if it were smelling her out, and peered back to see if she was following.

  Sonja took this as a sign that she needed to follow the strange paranormal entity—or at least it wanted her to follow. Hesitating, she debated whether this was one of the witch’s tricks or an actual ghost that needed help of some kind.

  Pulling herself out of the twisted sleeping bag, she stood up and trotted after the thing.

  Reaching the trees, it zigzagged in and out of the shadows, making it difficult to keep track of. Just when she’d thought she’d lost the strange spirit, it paused in between two trees. Approaching the spot where it was kneeling, Sonja noticed it staring down at the something in the dirt.

  Whatever it was glinted in the moonlight.

  Looking toward the spirit for clarification, Sonja realized it was gone—vanished into thin air.

  What was it trying to show her? Squatting down close to the earth, she picked up the shiny object.

  It was a nametag. The words on it read Barry Niles.

  CHAPTER 13

  * * *

  “I’m telling you, Frank. The body was moved to that cabin,” Sonja told her boyfriend the next morning as she led him to the spot from the night before. They each were drinking coffee from foam cups, compliments of a local donut shop that had delivered a dozen boxes of pastries and a large plastic dispenser of coffee. Bethany had decided to treat everyone to breakfast after the hard news of Barry’s death the night before.